33 – Never Cast a Chinaman (9)
Anxiety, yes, Sebastian Moran had no choice but to be anxious.
For the first time in her life, happy days were continuously unfolding in her life. Of course, the situation was not entirely favorable, and there were parts that she didn’t like, but that was all. At least, she wasn’t being glared at like a butchering livestock, as she was when roaming in the East End or under her superiors.
The blows from Mrs. Bance’s cane stung, but the young girl knew it wasn’t that severe. Compared to her half-brothers who used to beat her until she was spitting blood, this was not even painful.
Most importantly, hunger no longer existed in her life. And she was finally able to experience what warmth felt like.
At first, she was not pleased with the abrupt changes. In fact, she was anxious about everything back then.
The East End life was probably the worst, but Moran lacked experience, and the unknown was always frightening.
But she soon found out that she was wrong. Bit-by-bit, or perhaps due to Mrs. Bance’s influence, she had become accustomed to referring to her new master as “master.”
At least, he respected her as a living being. He did not view her as someone inferior, like the inferior individuals in the East End or her brothers did. Instead, he regarded her with eyes that conveyed that it was alright for her to exist.
Of course, she wasn’t fully aware of this difference in gaze yet. But her sensitive senses could acknowledge the existence of this difference.
Upon seeing her ears and tail, the master didn’t scream or curse like others. Instead, he reassured her that there was nothing wrong and even encouraged her to be confident, mocking her attempts to hide her ears.
All these were first-time experiences for her.
Actually, what she felt foremost, amidst these meticulous yet minor changes, was that she could sleep and wake up in a warm home.
She could wake up from a soft bed, not from the hard floor. She didn’t have to wander around in hunger anymore.
In fact, working as a maid and a servant in Professor Moriarty’s mansion was unquestionably a not-so-bad job.
James Moriarty well knew that some idiots, due to their small greed, sometimes ruin bigger things.
As he did not concern himself with money or property, he provided fair compensation to his subordinates, while leading the organization and equally treated the people working at his home, in his capacity as the professor.
He realized that the existence of the maids and servants could be frightening. He preferred to bribe mistreated maids and servants for gaining information or for delegating serious tasks.
Moriarty, who didn’t want to fall victim to his double-edged sword, treated Mrs. Bance and other servants well. He was recognized as a good master and employer.
Therefore, everyone, from the trivial meals to the treatment of the maids and servants, was different, leaving no room for dissatisfaction. The bottom-level living in the East End was all heaven-like-on-earth hence for Moran.
She had no particular complaints about having to work. Even in the East End, she had to pickpocket due to her clumsy skills and survive by handing it over to her superiors. In fact, she had more days of being beaten due to her clumsy skills.
Of course, she was bound to make mistakes in the mansion at first. But, Mrs. Bance and the master only rebuked her quietly and tutored her, helping Moran to gradually improve.
What was surprising was the fact that she was being compensated for her work. At first, she spent all the money unknowingly on candies, but then an opportunity arose again.
Even though he was weak, Moran undoubtedly thought that he was a decent fellow.
Weak, yes, weak.
That point was an undeniable truth which remained firm to Moran, who was a wolf hybrid and a girl from the street.
Though the master was undeniably very kind-natured, he was weak. If Moriarty and his underlings knew this, they would surely sneer, but the girl was serious.
This was due to the environment in which the girl was naturally born and raised. Like many stray children and abandoned children striving on the streets, they were closer to the world of beasts than anyone else.
Moran, who was forced to survive in a cold world of crime, overlooked by even the public power, where the weak either died or had no choice but to obey the strong, it was simple common sense to her.
Moreover, she was a descendant of a werewolf. Although disdained for being a ha’penny or feared for being a threatening being, the wild instinct of a wolf certainly lurked in her innately.
That’s why Moran was extremely anxious.
The master is weak, but good-natured. But still, he’s weak.
And the master wanted to kill Pfumanchu. Even though Moran was a young girl, she could not have been unaware of this as Professor Moriarty walked her next door, ostensibly framed for training.
At first, she smirked, but now, Moran could realize that everything was anxious. The girl didn’t know it was the fear of possibly losing all she had. Because she had never had it before.
But she disliked this.
Pfumanchu is strong. He was far stronger than anyone Moran knew. Therefore, the master couldn’t win. The master would surely die. Pfumanchu would never spare the master who attempted to kill him.
So, what happens to me?
For a moment, Moran thought. And she became scared. Already accustomed to such a life and tasting happiness, she might be addicted.
Of course, Moran herself probably wouldn’t die. She would return to her place, belonging to Pfumanchu and nothing different from the things in the East End.
But could she endure her original life? Like a treasure given and then snatched away, could she live accepting everything as natural?
That’s why Moran secretly glanced at the master, who she was calling by habit now, when she was sorting the letter lists as instructed.
The professor was confirming the letter sent to Moriarty the criminal, not the professor, and Moran knew who it was from.
It was a letter from Fu Manchu’s daughter. She knew well that it had been almost a month since such letters started coming and going.
She wished he wouldn’t exchange such letters anymore. Such thoughts crossed her mind momentarily. It increasingly felt like with each passing letter, their master’s death drew nearer.
Thus, unknowingly, Moran opened her mouth.
“Master.”
“Why do you say so?”
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“Do you… have to do this?”
“What are you talking about, Moran? If you don’t speak clearly, I can’t understand you. That’s what a conversation is.”
Although bitter, Moran held back her anger and opened her mouth again.
“All of this. That man, he’s powerful. Visili… no, our master will die.”
Moriarty was silent for a moment. Moran couldn’t read her master’s thoughts or mood. However, she had no choice but to approach her master when she was summoned with a flick of his finger a moment later.
– Click!
“Sqeak!”
“So you were not a wolf, but a dog, Moran. Stop the nonsense and get back to work.”
“Grrr!”
After showing her solidarity, to her surprise, Visili hit her forehead. He didn’t have much strength, so it didn’t hurt, but her heart was sore from receiving such a reaction despite her genuine concern.
Moran vowed not to worry about Visili anymore and turned her back on Moriarty. Of course, Moriarty didn’t bother to coax her.
Instead, he put down the letter he received and sorted out his thoughts.
He had been in contact with Sue Robinson, preparing for an upcoming funeral. From a certain point, he knew half the letters they exchanged had turned into love letters.
Of course, he had been using it appropriately, but from her recent dinner invitations, he couldn’t help but sense a bit of obsession and fear.
Objectively, she was not a bad woman. Despite being of Chinese descent, his main profession was still a criminal after all.
Even racists would put aside their frail beliefs for this woman, as she was undoubtedly beautiful.
In the process of discussing the forces to settle within the East End for their plan, he found her slightly smarter than he thought. Moriarty liked people who weren’t dumb.
Also, the amount of money Sue Robinson could bring was significant. If they could handle the East End entirely, there was no doubt it would be a huge gain.
‘I don’t necessarily need to go all the way to marriage. I can use her even if we just keep a fictitious engagement.’
Of course, Moriarty, who didn’t know how love craziness could lead and how one could obsess over another person, had such naive thoughts for a while.
But since the priority was to send a reply first, he picked up a pen and started writing a letter in response to Sue Robinson’s invitation.
Everything went smoothly. The plan to assassinate the Chinese king, training the wolf, everything.
